


Just Live

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, F/M, Gen, Gen Fic, Harry Centric, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Platonic Bedsharing, Post War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Harry didn’t know how hard it would be to choose to live.





	Just Live

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracie137](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracie137/gifts).



Harry looked down at his watch for the third time - 3:39 am - wondering if it was possible that time was actually moving slower. He was so tired his eyes were starting to burn but he couldn't bring himself to lay in his bed. It’d been three days since he’d slept.

He knew he was being ridiculous. He was safe here. It was Hogwarts. It was the closest thing to a home he'd ever had.

The bed wasn't even large, just a normal single. In fact, that meant it was at least half the size of the bed he’d slept in all summer before returning for eighth year. The problem was he’d spent all summer bunking in with Ron and Hermione.

He can still recall that first night they’d come into his room at Grimmauld Place, silently slipping into his bed and offering their presence as a barrier to the nightmares. He’d thought they were doing it for his sake, but Hermione and Ron had both confessed a few days later they both slept better when Harry was with them. “So we know you’re safe,” they’d whispered, wrapping around him. Harry wasn’t sure if they were telling the truth, but he let himself believe they were. It made it easier for him to need them so much, knowing it wasn’t one-sided.

They'd gone on like that all summer. Harry had been terrified of overstaying his welcome, of becoming a third wheel. But they’d just smiled at him in that way that made him feel safe.

Sometimes they all stayed in Hermione’s bed, sometime’s Ron, but rarely Harry’s. But regardless of where they crashed, it was always together. If anyone else noticed, they didn’t say anything.

Harry can still recall the way Ron’s voice had sounded that last night before they returned to Hogwarts. “You can still stay with us, mate. Fuck anyone else who cares.”

But Harry had shaken his head, insisting he was fine. He loved them. But it was hard to keep lying to himself about them needing him as much as he needed them. They didn’t still wake from nightmares sweating or screaming, didn’t close their eyes and remember what it was like to die, didn’t wonder if they’d made the right choice to live.

So he’d plastered on a smile and let Ron and Hermione help him set up his room. All the eighth years had single rooms. And though Harry strongly suspected Headmistress McGonagall knew many of them were sharing, she didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if it was because they were all technically of age now, or because of the war, but either way she let them have as much independence as she could. At least as long as everyone kept it to the dorm.

Harry knew he wouldn’t be okay, but he wanted to be, and he’d hoped that might be enough. The first night he’d woken up screaming so hard his voice was hoarse. Luckily he’d had the forethought to cast a strong enough Muffliato on his room. After that he’d given up sleeping and instead spent the next two nights pacing his room, re-reading his class notes and staring at the ceiling until he saw spots. But by the fourth night, Harry was pretty sure he might become delirious if he didn’t get some sleep soon.

Which is how he ended up pacing the floor to Hermione’s room for the next hour. Every time he’d get the nerve to knock he’d stop, wondering if they were sleeping peacefully, if they’d fallen asleep grateful to finally have some privacy and time alone, or if they were having sex. Harry really didn’t want to think about that. Not because he was jealous, but because they were his family and the idea of them having a sex life was not something Harry needed to think about.

He’d just about lost his nerve, ready to go back to his room and succumb to his sleep-induced delirium rather than risk being a burden to the people he loved most when the door was yanked open.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered, reaching out and pulling him into a hug. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, wrapping his arms around her and hiding his face in her hair. She was warm and soft and smelled so familiar that before he knew what was happening there were tears prickling the sides of his eyes.

“Stubborn wanker,” Ron muttered, and Harry didn’t even have time to wonder when Ron had crossed the room before Ron was hugging him from behind, enveloping them both in his strong embrace. And fuck but Ron smelled good too; they smelled like home.

“Why didn’t you come to us sooner?” Hermione asked gently, her voice muffled against Harry’s shoulder.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a pathetic noise that had him slamming his mouth shut, trying to wipe away his tears in Hermione’s hair.

Harry was tired. So tired. He hadn’t known it would be so hard, that choosing to live would sometimes feel more like dying.

“Come on mate, move your feet,” Ron urged, gently pushing at Harry’s leg with his own and helping to maneuver them all to the small bed — or not so small since it looked like Hermione had expanded it — without them having to disengage from their embrace.

“We’ll never get tired of you,” Hermione huffed. “You silly boy.”

“Never,” Ron echoed firmly.

Harry sucked in a deep breath, hadn’t even realized he’d said that out loud. And then they’d both climbed into the bed, wrapping around him again. They sounded so sure. Harry wanted to believe them so badly it hurt.

“Just sleep, Harry. We’ll figure this out later. All of it. It’s okay.”

Hermione’s voice was so pleasant, her words lulling him to sleep as Ron rubbed his back.

Harry was tired. Tired of lying, to himself and his friends, tired of hurting. So he nodded, closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him. Maybe living his truths would be easier tomorrow.


End file.
